Menu

Mind Your Portions

I just need to wiggle by CollickyBaby – and get to my desk [where I can commence surfing the web. I mean working.]

This is what my cat, Scout, does when I call her name…

She knows I want to engage in some kind of ridiculata – like pick her up and carry her around like a little furry babykins snootlebug.

And she is not having any of it!

So she lifts her ear – and wiggles it – to acknowledge that she has heard me.

But she refuses to turn her entire head or body or engage me in any way because: a) she is a cat, and therefore, superior in all ways and b) will not condescend to participate in my nonsense.

Her Royal Highness has initiated a strategic lack of engagement.

And that’s what I’m doing.

A strategic lack of engagement all the way to my desk – in this tiny shared office – where I will commence being disinterested in all drama queen nonsense.

Wiggle. Scoot.

Scoot, scoot. Wiggle.

“I know you’re not into this,” CollickyBaby sniffles. [Exactly. I am not. It’s nice to know that 6-months of “telling you” and ordering a 4-foot by 4-foot file cabinet to put between us did not escape your complete self-absorption.]

“Do you mind if I cry?” she continues.

Let’s see… what is the problem this time? Hang nail? Bad hair day? Summer is kryptonite for curly hair. [I’m just sayin’.]

“He is so mean,” she whimpers. [Bored now. Next…]

Honestly, “he” could be anybody. Ronald McDonald. The mailman. Captain Crunch. The sun. She just likes to cry. Or pout. Or slam doors.

All one needs to know is that something has been “done.”

And she is the “victim.”

The perpetual victim.

Grrr…

How did this wingnut slip under my craydar [crazy people radar] for a year?

Always there. Always supporting her.

I know.

I hate to see people in pain. And she looks so frail and tortured like [a really annoying] Bambi. A baby deer or something.

And I think a person should be able to feel bad until they are done. It’s not a race.

And I fully support freedom of expression.

But the problem comes

When our issues clash

My issue is I simply do not have endless amounts of energy

So I need to save it for me and my friends and people I actually like [and puppies and kittens and RuPaul]

I blame grad school for making me less accommodating.

I was too busy [the kind of busy where showers were optional if I passed the sniff-test].

So it became very clear who I allowed to drain my energy.

And I needed a plan to shift from my agitated paradigm back to my happy place.

So I just started sorting.

Things and associations that work.

And things and associations that don’t.

Sort. Sort. Sort.

Let’s do this!

The criteria?

If I enjoyed A/B/C’s company, they were keepers.

However, if you were on the you-get-on-my-last-damn-nerve list… it was all KISKIM [keep it short, keep it moving]. We can have a conversation, but it’s gonna be work-related and it’s gonna be short.

My KISKIM list included:

**All drama queens/perpetual victims/CollickyBaby…

Everybody is against them blah blah blah.

Everything sucks blah blah blah.

Everybody else has something they don’t and it is everybody else’s fault.

It is clear to me that whining is just one of their um… thangs. And that’s fine. But if you’re gonna tell the same story over and over, could you at least diversify the delivery?

How about an funny accent? [That’s always fun.]

Or juggling WHILE you whine? [Multitasking rocks. And people like moving balls.]

Otherwise, it’s just a drag.

Here is what my new favorite drag queen, Latrice Royale, would say about all the drama: “5Gs. Good god get a grip girl. You’re just a dude in dress. It’s not that serious.” [Insert pursed lips and fabulous outfit here.]

Now, go away.

Next…

**SadTallDreary [STD]

She likes to try/get people fired if she is threatened by them. I joke that she will stab you in the back – and the front and the side and the eyeball.

In spite of her machinations, she has been overlooked for advancement, etc. more times than a decrepit, fossilized french fry under my car seat. [Let’s just call this – french fry justice.]

**AllFoodCritics.

Let me be clear.

My explaining-food-choices day are over. I think I do pretty good [mostly]. And that’s all I require from myself.

Nuff said.

Here is how this works.

My life.

YOOOOOOOUR life.

My business.

YOOOOOOUR business.

Just mind your business and I’ll mind mine.

I will not tolerate

Food bullying or lectures of any kind

Lecturing other adults is just obnoxious – unless they ask for your opinion.

I say “no” nicely – ONCE. Twice if I like you [and I don’t have my period and/or the temperature is below 107].

But if the critic persists.

I have a new and improved – no.

The bionic no [‘cause it’s like super fast and has special powers and stuff].

The follow-up words can be anything “No – I am bit particular” or “No – it’s just not my thing.”

“Say what now?! I know damn well you are not questioning ME about what I will and will not eat with my grown ass self. Are you frakkin’ out of your frakkin’ mind? You need to get with the program. And the program is I tell you how it is and then you deal with it – on. your. OWN. time – because as you can see I am busy lookin’ cute and trying to eat food – that. I. chose. for. myself – ‘cause that’s what all the cool grownups are doing these days. Any questions?”

And like magic. [Abracadabra! Presto!]

There are never any questions.

Go figure.

Last on the KISKIM list is…

**TheWanderingPenis.

Cray cray people are not equipped to date at work. There. I said it. If you are arguing in the hallway, slamming doors and/or threw a phone at your cheating counterpart’s head, then you require the following: a) pride and b) a straightjacket.

Not a relationship.

Let me clear. I could care less about who gets fiddled and diddled.

I care that I have sat with your melodramatic “partner,” CollickyBaby – for a year – who has been crying, wigging out, and slamming doors because neither one of you idiots know how to create this magical divide between work and home.

This means I have to do more work managing my happy place on the periphery of the situation.

Because you won’t manage your situation at all.

And more work at work sucks.

Okay?

This inspires me to write a letter to the ever-so-innocent summer interns.

Look at them.

So not-mentally-deranged and doing weird stuff – like actually working.

Isn’t it adorable?

Dear Intern:

Once I babysat my 6-year-old niece, Kayla, and 8 year-old nephew, Mikie, for 4 days while their parents were out of town – henceforth, to be known as the

Longest Four Days Of My Life.

Um…it was fun, but exhausting.

Anyway, I was all freakin’ about how to discipline them if they fight. I absolutely hate disciplining children. Hate it. I feel my job is to keep them alive and fed and entertained.

So I asked my therapist, how to prepare?

She said make a list of house rules. Review it with them. And reward them when they do things right.

The only thing on my list was – no hitting or fighting. So I scrapped the list and crossed my fingers.

But I still think having babysitting rules at work can work. Let’s start here…

**No crying or tantrums [unless an anvil is dropped on your head].

**Don’t be an ass. [It’s just not cute.]

**When the craydar starts blaring, run like there is a sale at Target.

**Create boundaries that work for you. [It’s totally fun.]

Finally…

**Repeat after me. Nopenisnopenisnopenis. No penis. Not as a snack. Not just for fun.